The Fall of the Dragonborn
by f1manoz
Summary: Five years on from the Dragon Crisis, Henrik the Dragonborn was living a peaceful life with his adoring wife. But when the one thing he truly loves is taken from him, to what depths will he plunge his soul in his quest for revenge?
1. Chapter 1

_So I'm writing my first Skyrim fiction (only written one other story so far, for Mass Effect, though currently writing and uploading a second). These are my two favourite games, so thought I'd now give writing a Skyrim story a go._

_The main quest will be used as background for the main character. That's done and dusted according to my story. I'm being slightly ambitious (probably too much) in scope by using aspects of four other quest-lines – Dark Brotherhood, Thieves Guild, Dawnguard and the Civil War - as according to this story, none of those were attempted or completed by the Dragonborn. However, other minor quests may have been done and there may be mentions made during the story. As there is no race against time (mostly), I can hopefully flesh out the story of why my character will come to be involved in each one._

_I will be taking liberties with the Civil War. I never liked having to make a choice of either the Empire or Stormcloaks. Why not a third, fourth or fifth option…? (Like Fallout:NV)_

_I've got a storyboard already written up of how I'd like the plot to progress. My main problem is making it all believable, as although the setting is Skryim, and I'm using established quest lines, I'm creating my own tale, at least about my main character, from these quest lines. We'll see how it goes._

_Last thing, I've never written a story from first person perspective before. Requires a slightly different writing style I think._

* * *

The sun was dipping over the horizon of Lake Ilinalta, the low sun reflecting off the glistening water as a slight breeze ruffled the leaves of the forest around me. Along the cobbled path I rode my trusty and noble steed. My name is Henrik. No family name, long forgotten. I was once of Ivarstead, then of Riften, for a short time of Whiterun, and now of Falkreath. However, most people now know me as one name.

Dragonborn.

The trek back home was slow and steady as there was no rush after another long day. I owned a little cottage on the outskirts of Falkreath, having been given the land by Jarl Siddgeir. I had helped the local population of Falkreath many years ago, and once being made Thane by the Jarl, he rewarded me with a plot of land where I could build a home.

On appearance, I was not your archetypal Nord. While my brethren were usually tall, muscular and powerful, I was slightly shorter, strong but more wiry, built for endurance rather than just power. I had sharp, blue eyes and a dark beard that I kept neat and short, though a shaved head, which was unusual, as most Nords grew their hair long in the traditional style. I had my reasons. Baldness, being one. In other aspects, I also differed from my fellow Nord. I was educated, having spent many years travelling the breadth of Tamriel as an adventurer. I had no real fear of magic, having spent time in Cyrodiil at the University, and could see the benefits of using magic in combat. I had studied fighting techniques in Hammerfell. I had worked as a mercenary in High Rock. The only place I found unwelcoming were the lands of the Aldmeri Dominion, which I usually tried to avoid anyway. The Great War was still fresh in the mind of both Mer and Men.

It has been another successful hunt today, a deer's carcass slung over the rear of my horse, my bow sitting comfortably across my back alongside the quiver of steel arrows I always kept at hand. I had spent the past few months becoming more proficient with the bow, enjoying the thrill of the hunt, pitting my wits against all manner of beasts which inhabited the plains and forests of Skyrim.

As usual, while quietly riding my horse home, my thoughts drifted to my time of fighting Alduin the World-Eater, armed simply with a sword and shield. Granted, they had been enchanted with various spells. And I had learned the language of the dragons as I plunged the depths of numerous ancient ruins. I still had scars from all the battles, etched all over my body. I lost count of the number of dragons I had fought and slain during the Dragon Crisis, as it was now referred.

But, with great fondness, and with a smile on my face, I remembered my ride on Odahviing and arrival in Sovngarde. Of meeting Tsun, the Nordic God of Trials, and facing him in battle before my entry into the Hall of Valour. Of meeting Ysrgamor, the legendary leader of ancient lore, and numerous other Nords of myth and legend. And it was the place of the final epic battle with Alduin, where the World-Eater was defeated once and for all, and Skyrim was saved.

It was a place I was eager to return when I died.

Like all true Nords.

Thinking of the present, I knew the deer hide could be used to make leather items, as I had a small smithing area outside my cottage. I had some training as a smith where I could make my own simple wares, whether it be weaponry, armour or jewellery. I could sell these goods to a passing trader. Or, if I felt like it, I could sell the hides and fur in Falkreath, for a few gold, while the meat would be cooked for tonight's meal, for my wife and I.

I knew a smile spread across my face again as I thought of his wife.

Sulvia.

I was definitely not a traditional Nord in regards to my wife.

Sulvia was what most Nords referred to as a dark elf. A Dunmer.

My thoughts drifted off again, as usual while I rode my horse, as I remembered of how we first met.

* * *

**Five years ago**

_I had just defeated another dragon on the outskirts of Kynesgrove, by the name of Sahloknir, not far from the northern city of Windhelm. Another dragon soul had been consumed. Further proof that I really was the Dragonborn of legend. My time with the Greybeards had taught me much about this gift, and how I should use it wisely. _

_Most importantly, I had learned what it means to be Dragonborn. That Tiber Septim, Talos himself, was once the same. It left me wondering if we shared the same blood._

_In addition, I finally had answers from Delphine, the mysterious woman who revealed she had once been a Blade, former protectors of the Septim Emperors, though they had long been disbanded as the Thalmor had hunted them down mercilessly before and during the Great War. Knowing my history, I was aware of whom they once were, and we had agreed to join forces and that I would eventually meet back at her inn in Riverwood. Delphine had an idea of who may be behind the return of the dragons. _

_The Thalmor._

_Left to my own devices for the rest of the day, I decided to visit Windhelm. I was aware that it was the seat of Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, the leader of the rebellion against the Empire. Everyone had heard the rumours about his apparent duel with High King Torryg, and of shouting him to death. Quite frankly, I still found that quite unbelievable, as the Jarl was clearly not Dragonborn. I was not sure if shouting was something that could be taught so easily. It was something I may have to ask the Greybeards about. However, I had shared a cart with the Jarl when I had been mistaken for a Stormcloak soldier, and was staring at imminent death. That was until Alduin interrupted my seemingly inevitable execution, with his destruction of Helgen. Either way, I cared little for politics, and was not swayed either way by events that were happening. The dragon problem was of far more concern than anything else. I'll leave the petty issues between Jarls to other people._

_Through the city gates I walked, the two guards briefly nodding at me as I walked through. I thought they may know who he was, or had heard the battle that had taken place nearby. The sound of a shout was unmistakable, the sound usually carrying for miles. I stood just inside the city gates, briefly taking in my surroundings, trying to keep warm against the cold, as I noticed a female dark elf clearly being harassed by a pair of Nords. Shaking my head, I could hear the accusations being made, of the dark elves contributing nothing to the war, of them being possible spies for the Empire. I stood there and shook his head at the accusations being hurled the elf's way, but I was going to stay out of the situation. There was no need to involve myself in local affairs. I just wanted a hot meal, a tankard of mead and a warm bed before returning south the next morning._

_That was until one of the Nords pushed the female over._

_Now I was more than willing to get involved as I withdrew my sword immediately and walked quickly across the ground between myself and the two Nords, the Nords taking no notice of me closing in on them, as one of them leered over the dark elf with fists raised. I placed my sword under the Nord's neck, lifting his head with the blunt of my weapon._

_"Why don't you pick on someone willing to fight back?" I asked sarcastically._

_"What are you, some sort of elf lover?" asked the Nord, turning his head in surprise to look at me, a fellow Nord._

_"That is none of your concern. But I'm here if you really want to fight someone." _

_I glared at the other Nord, who had backed off slightly, hands already raised, before I sheathed my sword in its scabbard, and moved across to stand in front of the female elf. "Well, come on then, tough guy," I said, beckoning the Nord on with my right hand. If he wanted a fight, I'd give him one._

_"Come on, Rolff, he isn't worth it. Neither is the elf," said the other Nord, looking directly at me, noticing the armour and weapons that I had available, the steely look in my eyes as I waited for another fight. I was calm, breathing regularly, ready to explode and take them both if necessary._

_Rolff looked like he wanted a fight as well, but raised his hands slightly as he slowly took a couple of steps back. "I'll see you later, little elf. And you too, elf lover"_

_Without a word, I watched as the two men walked back a few more steps, before they turned and walked away. Once they were gone from sight, I turned around and offered a hand to the female still on the ground._

_"Are you okay?" I asked as I helped her to her feet._

_The female nodded and gave a slight grin. "I'm fine. Thank you for helping and stepping in," she responded, wiping the snow and dirt from her dress._

_I shook his head slightly, a sad expression on my face, as I asked, "Is everyone like that in this city?"_

_"Not all of them, but it is hard being a Dunmer in Windhelm. I take it you have never been here before?"_

_"No. I'm from the south of Skryim. And, to be honest, I don't have many dealings with elven folk such as yourself."_

"_So what is your opinion of elves, and non-Nord folk, if you don't mind me asking?"_

_I shrugged his shoulders. "I have no problem with elves, or any other race for that matter. I don't think any Nord has any particular love for the Thalmor. But they don't represent all elves, much like Ulfric does not represent all Nords. I like to keep an open mind about most people."_

_The female smiled sadly. "Then you are in the wrong place, my friend. Ulfric has made it clear that he wants Skyrim for the Nords only. People like you, who appear to be accepting of outsiders, are a rare breed in Windhelm."_

_"Just how bad are things here?"_

_"Why don't I show you around where we Dunmer are expected to live?" she offered._

_I nodded, and together we walked off towards what she called the Gray Quarter._

"_I haven't asked, but what is your name, kind sir?"_

_"Henrik. And yours?"_

_She gave a small smile. "I'm Sulvia."_

* * *

I was broken from my thoughts by a faint orange glow in the distance. It appeared to be coming from near my house.

_What is that? Whatever it is, it can't be good._

I kicked my feet into the sides of the horse, beckoning it to move faster. The sounds of hooves echoed off the stone as the horse continued to gallop faster and faster. In the base of my gut, a growing kernel of concern was growing and I was increasingly worried that something was terribly wrong. Something just wasn't right. I could feel it in my bones. Up the dirt path towards my house I directed the horse, and all I could see was the glow of orange and red flames, the heat emanating from them, as they engulfed my home. I was off his horse in an instant and running towards the fire.

"Sulvia!" I yelled, as I ran towards the front door. I tried opening it, but it appeared to be blocked. I took a few steps back, running into the door with shoulders. Still it would not budge.

"Dammit!" I yelled.

I took a step back and used a soft Unrelenting Force shout. "FUS!" The door blew open, the flames exploding out the gap as the fresh oxygen mixed with flame. Coughing, and covering my face, I walked into the flames. I could feel the heat of the flames on my body as I searched for my wife.

"Sulvia!" I yelled again. I could hear the crackling of the fire, the groans of the house as the flames continued to take hold. I sincerely thought it was about to collapse, or that I would soon pass out from the smoke. I knew I had to hurry. I walked through the front room and into our bedroom.

I stopped and gasped. Sulvia was lying on the bed, her light blue body caked in blood. I was quickly by her side, checking over her body. There were wounds everywhere, her clothes torn, ripped and shredded. Her eyes were closed, but I could see her chest was still rising and falling, though barely.

"Praise Talos, she's still alive," I whispered to myself.

Gently, I lifted Sulvia from the bed, an arm under her legs, another under her neck, Sulvia groaning slightly as she was moved. Carefully, but as quickly as possible, I crouched with her in my arms and walked back through the flames outside. Once outside, I gently placed her on the ground. She groaned again as I kneeled beside her, holding her hand.

"Sulvia?" I asked quietly.

She opened her eyes, glowing red as they usually did, before she groaned again. "Henrik?" she asked softly.

I could only nod while giving a slight smile. I could feel the sting of tears in my eyes. I knew I was watching my wife die in front of my eyes, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I, Henrik the Dragonborn, felt utterly helpless. Falkreath was too far away and moving her anywhere else would only hurt her further. I knew a little magic, but nothing that could heal all her wounds. I could go for help, but I feared that I would be gone too long. I just didn't want to leave her alone.

"Stay with me, Sulvia. Please. I need you with me..."

She smiled that same smile she always had for him. "I love you, Henrik. I always have. Ever since that first day. You're a good man..."

"I love you too," I choked back.

Sulvia never said another word as I continued to kneel beside her, holding her hand with one of mine, her head in another, as I watched her take her final breaths, the fire continuing to roar behind me as it consumed everything, but nothing as important as the woman I watched over. When she closed her eyes a final time, and took her final breath, I sobbed gently as I placed her hand down on her chest and stroked her face a final time, leaning and giving her a soft kiss. I then stood up, flexing my fists. I could feel anger and rage coursing through my veins. Who would do this? And why? My eyes were frantic as he looked around the area, the fire wild in the reflection of my eyes. Suddenly something took my focus as I turned slightly. There was something written on the rockface that was near my house. It was lit up by the fire. Underneath it were the dead bodies of all the animals that we had kept. The words were written in their blood.

"Skyrim for the Nords."

I could feel my broken heart turn to stone as I glared at the words.

Already my thoughts settled on only one thing.

Revenge on whoever did this.

* * *

I stood in silence at the graveside of my wife, jagged stones and sand now covering the coffin, as I played with the Ring of Matrimony on my left hand. The Priest of Arkay, Runil, was busy giving his sermon, but I found little comfort in his words. I felt like an empty shell of a man. There were no more tears. Just overriding sadness and despair. The happiness and joy I had felt for life only days before had been extinguished. Only anger and thoughts of revenge remained. I kept my face impassive, though, as I continued to stare down at the stones.

Everyone, who lived in and around from Falkreath, was in attendance, paying their respects. Sulvia and I had lived peacefully in Falkreath for the past four years and had come to know the locals well. I considered many of the locals very good friends. But now I knew I had to leave. I couldn't stay anywhere near this place. There were simply too many memories, all of them good, until…

Eventually the priest finished his sermon and slowly people started to shuffle off, words of regret and condolences ringing in my ears. I thanked them for their kind words but nothing they could say would replace the sense of loss I now felt. Soon enough, I was stood there by myself in front of the grave and rain started to fall, water flowing down my face as they mingled with the tears that once again started to fall. I continued to stand there in silence, fingering my Amulet of Talos that hung around my neck. There was no prayer, though. There were no real thoughts. Just those same two emotions I had felt since that night.

But now, it was time to go.

_Goodbye, my love._

I finally turned and walked away, looking back one final time at the gravestone that marked where my wife was now buried. I was unsure if I could ever return. It hurt too much. The material possessions could be replaced. But the woman who had captured my heart…

What I knew is that I certainly didn't want to remember this day. I walked out of the cemetery and up the path leading into the local tavern, 'Dead Man's Drink', where others had gathered for the wake. All turned to look at me as I opened the door and walked in. It quieted down as I approached the bar.

"What'll it be, Dragonborn?" asked Valga Vinicia.

"Tankards of mead for everyone. And keep them coming. Plus I'd like a room for the night," I replied, handing over a bag of coin.

Valga merely nodded, stating that I wouldn't have to pay for the room, before handing over an already poured tankard, which I took and walked over to one of the tables, taking a seat by myself as the usual sounds of a tavern once again started up. I was soon joined by my good friend Lod, a tankard of mead for himself.

Lod look unsure of what to say at first. "What will you do now, Henrik?" he finally asked.

I shrugged his shoulders and sighed, shaking my head. "I can't stay here, Lod. I'm finished in Falkreath."

Lod just nodded his head. "Understandable."

"I still have Breezehome in Whiterun. I'll stop there for a while then think about what to do next. I know I'll eventually have to go to Windhelm."

"Whatever for, Henrik? Surely the memories there will be just as vivid."

"That is true, Lod, but Sulvia had many friends there. The Dunmer community in Windhelm is very close knit. I know how hard it was for her to leave there after we married. They will want to know of her… passing. Then… then I find out what happened."

"Is there anything you need from us before you go?"

I shook his head. "You were all there for me today, Lod. That is all I could ask. I will drink tonight, until I can forget, then I will depart from Whiterun tomorrow."

* * *

I woke early the next morning as the sun shone through the window at the top of the wall. I blinked my eyes rapidly a few times, then the head-pounding kicked in and the feeling in my stomach welled as I felt the mead still sat in my stomach.

_Good hangover then._

I swung my legs out of bed and slowly put on my leather armour. I was thankful that I kept back-ups of numerous items at Breezehome, in case of emergency, including weaponry and armour that I had crafted during the Dragon Crisis. But I was still saddened to have lost so many possessions in the fire, the personal mementos that Sulvia and I had gathered during our time as a couple. Eventually I was dressed and ready, armour on, weapon sheathed on my side and shield on my back, satchel on the other side. I walked out into the tavern. Valga was already up, wiping down the bar.

"How's the head, Henrik? You certainly drank your fill last night," Valga asked, a brief smile on her face before it disappeared.

"Like I've been clubbed by a giant. But I needed that… after everything…"

Valga nodded. "Can I get you anything before you go?"

"Just something for the road. Couple of apples to snack on. I'll grab something substantial when I'm back in Whiterun."

Valga dug into a barrel nearby and grabbed a couple of big, juicy red apples, handing them over, where I placed them in my satchel. I took one last look around, before I said goodbye to Valga and walked outside. I was surprised to see most of Falkreath again, waiting outside near my horse.

"You didn't think we'd let you leave without a proper goodbye, did you, Dragonborn?" asked Valdr cheerfully. No matter what happened in his life, Valdr always managed to be positively chipper.

I could only smile, the first genuine one I'd had in days. Valdr's enthusiasm for life was positively infectious. "I guess not, Valdr."

I climbed on his horse and the townsfolk closed in around me. I made sure to shake all their hands, wishes of a good future ringing in my ears. They all understood why I had to leave, though there was a heavy sadness in all their hearts, much like myself. Falkreath had been home, the first real home I had made for myself, but it could be no longer. Eventually, though, I had to leave, and with a final wave, I turned my horse and slowly walked the horse up the path to the main road that would take me back to Whiterun.

* * *

_A/N – First chapter. Let me know what you think. If it's any good. I already have a few chapters written but would like any idea / constructive criticism._

_Sure I'll probably get questions about it. I know Dunmer burial ceremonies are different (as explained in the Dragonborn DLC) but I would figure that they would go with a simple Nord ceremony as, from what I remember, there were no other Dunmer in Falkreath._


	2. Chapter 2

I could barely remember the last time I walked through the gates of Whiterun. However, I was still recognised by the guards, who simply stated "Dragonborn" and bowed ever so slightly, as the gates were opened as I approached. Once through the gates, I just stood past the entrance and took in the town again. It had barely changed. The same traditional Nord buildings that made up the town, the same townsfolk keeping themselves busy. I turned slightly, looking to my right at 'Warmaidens', the local smith run by Adrianne, a woman I had many dealings with during the Dragon Crisis. I was always approaching her with requests for new weapons and armour, or to help mend the same things that were returned battered and broken. She had been stood in her usual position, leaning against a post next to her forge, but she now walking over towards me.

"Henrik, is that you?" she asked.

I just nodded. Adrianne, to my surprise, wrapped me in a warm embrace, her bronzed skin from working out in the sun, long golden hair that hung past her shoulders, her arms felt muscular as they wrapped around me.

_Must be all that work at the forge. She feels stronger than me!_

"We've all heard the news. We're so very sorry," said Adrianne, as she let go of me, though held both hands on my shoulders, looking into my face, "How are you?"

"Getting by," I replied simply.

_What can I say? I want to find the people who did this and slowly dismember them?_

"It's good to see you, but what are you doing back in Whiterun?"

"I couldn't say in Falkreath. Too many memories. I have nothing left there. Everything's gone." Adrianne nodded to that. "So I thought I'd stop here for a day or two then move on to Windhelm. I have… things to do while I'm there."

"It's not the best of circumstances, but the entire town will be delighted to see you, Henrik. Even after all this time, you're still a hero in Whiterun. We'll be glad to have you around for a couple of days, despite the circumstances of why you have returned."

I would have grinned, as I remembered Whiterun and its people with great fondness, but it didn't make its way to my face. "That's nice to know…," I said, shrugging my shoulders, "I guess I should drop by and see Lydia. I haven't see her in a while."

Adrianne nodded. "It's good to have you back, Dragonborn."

Adrianne walked away back to her forge, the ring of hammer hitting steel once again filling the air as I walked towards my other home. My first home in Skyrim.

Breezehome.

I soon realised that I didn't have a key, just one of numerous personal items I had lost in the fire, so I had to make do with knocking on the front door. I heard footsteps on the other side of the door, the key in the lock and then the door opened.

"Henrik….? I mean, my Thane?" asked a surprised Lydia. She then descended the small step and I again found himself in the embrace of a strong Nord woman. If I wasn't still mourning, wasn't still full of bitter rage, I probably would have found comfort in this hug. Particularly with regards to Lydia, who I had always found attractive, but never pursued anything romantic, before meeting Sulvia at least, as it didn't seem right, considering she was 'sworn to carry his burdens'.

Lydia eventually let me go, and we stared at each other for a moment, my look of slight surprise no doubt amusing Lydia. Still the same brunette hair and brown eyes looked back at me, the same full lips desperately trying not to turn into a full grin. The years had been kind to her, which was surprising, as I had no doubt her life was not easy. She had been by my side for most of the Dragon Crisis.

Lydia turned and walked back inside, not before taking me by hand, and I simply followed her inside, walking past Lydia who then closed the door behind us. I took one of the chairs by the small fire, Lydia taking the other chair next to me.

"How are you, my Thane?" asked Lydia.

"For the last time, Lydia, we've known each other for over five years now, and although I'm your Thane, more importantly, you're one of my closest friends. You can call me Henrik. As I've requested, you only need to call me Thane in official company."

Lydia smiled. "Okay, how are you, Henrik?" she asked, emphasising his name.

"In all honesty, could be better. But that's to be expected, isn't it?"

_Just don't ask about my wife, and I'll be fine._

"So what are you doing back in Whiterun? It's nice to see you again, Henrik, but slightly unexpected."

"Could do with being around some old friends for a day or two, Lydia," I said, trying and failing to smile again, "But I also need to grab some gear before I head off to Windhelm."

I then explained his reasons for heading to Windhelm again. Not wanting to continually rake over what happened, I thought to move the conversation on.

"What's been happening here, Lydia? To be honest, we don't get much in the way of news down in Falkreath, though I've tried to lead a life of relative quiet recently. Is the peace holding between Solitude and Windhelm?"

Lydia looked thoughtful for a moment. "The peace treaty you managed to put together during the Dragon Crisis still holds, Henrik. But it's tenuous at best. There are always flash-points around Skyrim, just waiting to plunge the country back into full-scale war once again. So far, we've been lucky, it seems. Whatever the case, Whiterun still manages to remain neutral and peaceful. I think Balgruuf would still back the Empire if push came to shove, but there are plenty of Stormcloak sympathisers in Whiterun, so he manages to maintain an air of neutrality."

"That's good. What about you, though, are you still a Stormcloak supporter?"

Lydia looked slightly chagrined at that. "No, Henrik. After all the stories you told me about Windhelm, about what you put up with while courting Sulvia, I'm now what you would call neutral, as I can't really support the Empire. I want to worship Talos freely and want Skyrim to be independent. But I don't agree with their end-policy of expelling any and all non-Nords with their 'Skyrim for Nords' bullshit. I know it was one of my catchphrases, but that was when we were being attacked by bandits!

Then all I have to do is look at Whiterun and see that Ulfric is wrong about that at least. Here is an example of a multi-racial city that still manages to live in harmony."

"That's because the Jarl is a good man, Lydia. I should go see him."

"That you should, Henrik. He'd be delighted to see you again."

"Well, why don't we go now? How often do you get up to Dragonsreach nowadays?" I then shook my head. "Ugh, just saying that reminds me of Nazeem…"

Lydia chuckled. "Not too often. I quite happily make myself at home here."

We both stood up and walked out of Breezehome, Lydia locking the door behind her, before we turned right to walk up the path towards 'The Bannered Mare'. The sounds of song and merriment echoes through the closed doors. I had to grin slightly as I remembered the numerous nights spent in there, with drink in my stomach and song in my heart, as all toasted the Dragonborn. Outside, the usual stalls were still in place, the tenders walking around to greet Lydia and I as we walked by. Even they had heard the news. It seemed words regarding anything to do with the Dragonborn travelled fast. I appreciated their condolences and concern nonetheless, with numerous hugs and handshakes from the locals as we made our way up the stairs.

Up the stairs and past Jorrvaskr we walked. In some ways, I had always regretted not joining up with the Companions originally, when I had first arrived in Whiterun after escaping the executioner's axe, though I figured there simply wasn't enough time, with the Dragon Crisis and all. As I walked by, I figured I might have to drop in later and see what they were truly about. I wasn't quite local to Whiterun, growing up as a child in nearby Ivarstead, but nearly everyone knew about the Companions, though their reputation had taken a battering in recent years, with rumours of wolf-blood running rife in certain circles.

Amazingly, still in the same place, was Heimskr, the Shrine of Talos still stood behind him. He looked a lot older, but the sermon had not changed one iota. He was still spreading the word of Talos, no matter what anyone told him. I stopped for one moment and listened to his words.

"And there it is, friends! The ugly truth! We are the children of man! Talos is the true god of man! Ascended from flesh, to rule the realm of spirit!

The very idea is inconceivable to our Elven overlords! Sharing the heavens with us? With man? Ha! They can barely tolerate our presence on earth!"

I had listened to the sermon enough times to repeat it word for word. I didn't agree with all of it, some of the words sounding too much like the proclamations of Ulfric Stormcloak. But I still worshipped Talos devoutly, something that Sulvia had always accepted and understood, as much as I accepted her worship of Azura, one of the few 'good' Daedra that I could think of. Sulvia and I had travelled the statue of Azura during our time together so she could worship, while Azura considered me her Champion after I had retrieved Azura's Star. I was thankful that was one of the items that had not perished in the fire. After listening to Heimskr for a moment, I approached him, the Nord stopping his sermon for a second as I pressed a gold coin into one of his palms.

"Praise Talos," I whispered with head bowed.

"And Talos praise you, Dragonborn," responded Heimskr.

I simply gave a brief nod at the mention of my name, before resuming my walk with Lydia. We talked about nothing in particular as we ascended the stairs to Dragonsreach. Two guards still stood by the doors, with greeting again of "Dragonborn", another slight bow, before they turned and opened the large, wooden doors. Upon entering, we found ourselves enveloped in warmth once again, the fires burning full and bright, illuminating the entire grand hall in light. Like usual, I always stopped for a moment to gaze up at the high roof. It boggled my mind as to how it was built. Servants were busy sweeping up the likely non-existent dust as we walked up the stairs, Lydia falling in a step behind. The first person to see our arrival was Irileth, who approached us as we walked by the large fire pit.

"Thane Henrik" she stated simply, resting a hand on my shoulder, "We are sorry to see you again under such circumstances. Your wife was… she was a good woman." I nodded in thanks. "Come, the Jarl has been expecting you since word of your arrival reached us."

The kindness from Irileth would once have been surprising, as we had not always seen eye to eye, Irileth once considering me just a simple Nord, like most other locals, unworthy of her respect or trust. But once the Dragon Crisis was over, and she learned of my marriage to a Dunmer, her attitude towards me had warmed, and although we were not friends, there was at least now a healthy level of respect between us.

Together we walked in silence as we approached the throne. Jarl Balgruuf sat there quietly, looking almost bored, like usual. Until he saw me approach, his face briefly lighting up in a smile, before fading as he seemed to remember why I had returned. The Jarl stood and walked down the steps to me. I stopped and was dropping to one knee before Balgruuf stopped me.

"There is no need for that, Thane Henrik. The Dragonborn, and Saviour of Skyrim, does not kneel to any Jarl."

"I do it out of respect for you, Jarl Balgruuf."

The Jarl slapped me lightly on the shoulder. "And you always were modest too, Henrik. I would say it's great to see you once again, my friend, but I know these are the worst of circumstances."

"That they are, my Jarl. Honestly, it feels like only yesterday we were sat at home together… but then I remember and…"

"Say no more, Henrik. There is no need to talk of it. All in your own time, and only if you deem it necessary."

I nodded in appreciation of his words.

"Have you eaten, Henrik?"

I shook my head. I had to admit, I was feeling hungry.

"How about a small feast, among friends? We can talk of the good times we've had together."

I could only give a slight grin. I knew what a small feast meant to Balgruuf. "That sounds good, my Jarl."

The Jarl clapped his hands and soon one of the long tables was full of meat and vegetables, fruit and cakes, and also tankards of mead, with the Jarl and his family, his housecarl, Irileth, along with Lydia and I, were sat around the table, sharing old stories from the Dragon Crisis and also talking of current events. I was soon laughing heartily for the first time in what felt like weeks, as Lydia shared numerous stories of our adventures during the Dragon Crisis, but soon realised how out of touch I was from events in Skyrim.

"So what exactly is the political situation in Skyrim, my Jarl? I can't believe the peace has managed to last this long, if I'm honest. The bargaining I had to go through just to get the treaty itself was bad enough."

"It depends on who you speak to, Henrik. The Stormcloaks, even after all this time, simply don't have the numbers to launch all-out war on the Imperial forces. Meanwhile, the Empire won't budge because they don't want to be seen as the side to have broken the truce. To them, it's about saving face. They want to wipe out Ulfric and his Stormcloaks, but won't make the first move. Then you have the Thalmor, who simply love the fact there has been no reconciliation between the two sides. So, effectively the country has been in a state of stalemate for the past four years. And Skyrim as a whole still pays the price, as nothing changes from year to year."

"There is one thing I must mention about what happened. Something which concerns me greatly."

"What is that, Henrik?"

"When I… When I found my wife, and she had passed, I noticed something was written in blood on a rockface near my house."

"Written in blood?" asked Lydia, concern in her voice.

"Yes. Whoever had ransacked my house and killed… Anyway, it said 'Skryim for the Nords.' You don't think…"

The whole table was silent, staring at me as I spoke.

"I mean, you don't think the Stormcloaks would come after me? I mean, I'm the Dragonborn, sharing the same reputation as the man they rever as a God. Yet I married a Dunmer, so in their eyes, I'm not a 'true Nord'. But surely they know doing this to me will only piss me off. Ulfric may be slightly mad in wanting to fight the Empire and Thalmor, but you don't think he would have ordered that?"

The table was silent for a few moments before the Jarl spoke. "Honestly, Henrik, no. I don't think Ulfric would attempt to involve you in the resumption of the Civil War. And he certainly wouldn't want the Dragonborn on the opposing side to his own. Regarding what happened, that would simply hand you to the Empire. Do you have anything else that could point to who it was? Could it have been a simple bandit raid?"

I could only shrug my shoulders and sigh, sagging slightly back into my chair. "I simply don't know. By the time I arrived, whoever was responsible had disappeared. They either got who they wanted, to send me a message, or whoever was responsible departed quickly, knowing they didn't want to be around when I found what I did."

"So what is this talk of going to Windhelm then, Henrik? You're not planning on anything outrageous, are you?"

"No, my Jarl. I am simply going to see the local Dunmer community. It is unlikely they would be aware of the news. I feel I should go deliver it in person."

"They will appreciate the gesture, Henrik," stated Irileth, "You've proven to be a real friend to them. Word has passed through the holds of your help."

"I thought that was anonymous!"

"Henrik, you must have passed over thousand of coin to help improve their lives," added Lydia, "Word was always bound to travel about who was making those donations. Particularly with you being a Nord. Dumner are not always the most trusting of people, particularly to people outside their race. You proved to them that there are those out there that can be trusted." I could see Irileth nodding along to Lydia's words.

"Well, I was only doing the right thing. The Dunmer, and the Argonians, were treated awfully by the Windhelm authorities. I dread to think of how bad it would be now if I hadn't have helped, particularly if the situation was not allowed to improve without my help. The conditions they were expected to live in when I first visited Windhelm were abysmal, and these were people we were meant to be helping after the Red Mountain blew. I can only hope the coin helped them in the past few years. I guess I will see soon enough."

* * *

Two mornings later, I was in my old bedroom, readying myself for my journey to Windhelm. Unsure of what sort of reception to expect on my arrival back in Windhelm, and what sort of journey was to unfold along the way, I was packing the best equipment I had. It was probably overkill in the long run, as I knew that I would not run into any armies at least, but it was always better to be prepared.

Dragon-scale armour, the best light armour I had available. Adrianne and I had spent weeks perfecting how it fit and sculpted my body, allowing enough protection and movement to ensure my survival. Attached to my back, a dragon-bone shield with enchantments. At my hip, a sheathed dragon-bone sword, also with enchantments. In a small sheath attached to my belt, a small dragon-bone dagger. Over my left shoulder, a dragon-bone bow. I knew I was no master smith, it had taken lot of persuasion and negotiation with Eorlund Gray-Mane to help me with the design and construction of the dragon-bone weapons. Eventually the respected smith had acquiesced to my requests and we had worked togehter getting each weapon perfect. With the addition of using the Skyforge, his weapons were near indestructible.

The final piece of the puzzle was one of the dragon's priest masks I had collected from the numerous dragon lairs that had dotted Skryim at one time. I put one of those in his satchel, for whenever he wanted to travel incognito. Above the mask I placed a set of fine clothes for when I arrived in Winhelm. I didn't particularly feel like sitting in armour while drinking at the bar.

Feeling that I was now finally ready, I took a deep breath and walked downstairs to see Lydia waiting there me. Unsurprisingly, she was stood there dressed in heavy armour, sword to her side and shield on her back. I think she was preparing for another adventure. I knew I was going to disappoint her.

"Are you sure you don't want me to accompany you, Henrik? Just like old times?"

If I was honest, I would have liked the company for the journey, but this was something I needed to do by myself. "I'm sure, Lydia, but thank you for the offer. All I ask is that you keep the peace here. I'll be back before you know it. May as well make this place home again, for now at least."

Lydia gave a slight grin as she unhooked her sheath and sword from her side, laying them against the wall. "It would be nice to have you around the house again, Henrik…" She then grimaced. "Sorry, Henrik, but you know what I mean."

I just nodded. "I know, Lydia. Don't worry about it."

"How are you planning on getting to Windhelm?"

"I'll leave my horse stabled here and take a carriage. It'll be slower but generally carriages manage to avoid trouble."

I walked to the door, opening it and peering outside. The sun was shining again, like it always seemed to do in this part of Skryim, though there was a slight chill in the air. There always was around Whiterun, no matter the time of year it seemed.

"Take care, Henrik," said Lydia. I turned and gave a slight smile.

"Always, Lydia. I'll be back before you know it."

* * *

_A/N – In case there are questions, the treaty my Dragonborn put together during the Dragon Crisis was more a peace treaty than a simple cease-fire. Considering that each side fought to a stand-still, I can see the two sides in a stalemate all this time later. You only have to look at current events in the real world to see such things are possible…_


	3. Chapter 3

I had forgotten how cold this part of Skyrim could be, as the carriage on which I was travelling finally arrived at the stables outside Windhelm. During the journey, I had covered my dragon armour in a large coat, pulling the hood down far over my un-helmeted head, just above my eyes, mostly to keep out the chill, but also in hopes of remaining unrecognised once I arrived in town. Once stopped, I stepped down from the carriage as it came to a halt, the snow crunching underfoot. It seemed the snow never melted in these parts. The sun still sat high in the sky, though provided next to no warmth, as the wind was whipping up snow, and the chill factor was high, cutting right to the bone. I was always amazed anyone managed to survive here and how anyone managed to grow food on the farms nearby. With a word of thanks to the carriage driver, I walked up the steps and slowly strode along the path leading to the Windhelm city gates.

* * *

**Five Years Ago**

_I knew I couldn't keep the smug grin from my face as I approached the gates to Windhelm once again. Henrik. The Dragonborn. Me, of all people, had fulfilled the prophecy and had finally defeated Alduin the World-Eater. To be honest, I hadn't expected to survive, as I was sure, at best, that I would have been trapped in Sovngarde, or at worst, been defeated, and the hopes of Skyrim, and all of Tamriel, extinguished along with me. I had prepared my mind, heart and soul for such an eventuality, and had spoken at length to Sulvia of my possible death._

_Through the gates I walked, the guards standing slightly at attention as I walked by, then turned to the right and down the steps to the Gray Quarter. I ran into numerous Dunmer that I had gotten to know during the past months, and all were pleased to see me. Obviously Sulvia had spoken to them of my journey, as they were amazed I had returned at all._

_Eventually I came to the wooden door that I knew so well. I raised a hand and knocked lightly. A moment later and the door opened, Sulvia stopping in her tracks. Her face brightened immediately as she saw that it was me who stood there._

"_Henrik!" she cried, leaping into me arms, almost knocking me over in her enthusiasm as she bathed my face in kisses._

"_Hello, my love," I managed to wheeze out, as Sulvia squeezed me tightly._

_Sulvia didn't respond for a moment. "I thought I'd never see you again," she said quietly._

"_It'll take more than some dragon to stop me from returning to you."_

_I could feel Sulvia chuckle in his arms. "Some dragon, Henrik? You told me who you were battling! Something about the world-eater, correct?"_

_I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, I put a stop to that idea. No-one will ever believe the story though…"_

_Sulvia eventually let me go and motioned for me to follow inside. Inside it was warm as I looked around her small room. I could see some subtle changes in décor since I was last here, but she still looked like she was struggling to make ends meet. Sulvia walked towards the small fireplace and turned around, that smile still on her face, her red eyes glowing in the light. I slowly approached her, scratching the back of my head. For the first time in a while, I felt slightly unsure. Sulvia seemed to notice this._

"_Is something wrong, Henrik?"_

_I stopped walking and looked right into her eyes, smiling ever so slightly. Without saying anything, I took a small item out of my pocket. It was something wrapped in cloth. Sulvia looked at me inquisitively as I slowly unwrapped the cloth to show her what it was._

_An Amulet of Mara._

"_I'm sorry, Sulvia. I've tried looking into Dunmer traditions for a while now, but I couldn't find anything, and I didn't think asking before I went off to fight Alduin was the right time. But, I figured since you have lived in Skyrim for many years now, you would be aware of one of our traditions. A man will give an Amulet of Mara to someone he wishes to spend his life with. The one thought that got me through that battle, and the only reason I was willing to depart Sovngarde, was you, Sulvia. You are the love of my life. So, what I'm asking is – will you be my wife?"_

_Sulvia was speechless for a moment. Then her face spread into a giant grin and she again leapt into my arms._

"_Yes, I will, Henrik."_

* * *

I knew I was grinning to myself at the memory as I walked into 'New Gnisis Cornerclub'. The outside of the club didn't look any different, but as I opened the door to enter, the inside looked a lot different to when I was last in there. The floor was now covered in a couple of nice rugs, there were new tables and chairs and the shelving behind the bar was full of stock and everything simply looked nicer, like everything had a fresh coat of paint. Ambarys, the bar-owner, looked up from the book he was reading as I approached the bar, his face one of surprise.

"Greetings, Henrik? What are you doing here?" asked Ambarys, who then stopped for a moment, apparently thinking, before he asked a further question. "Why are you here alone?"

"Greetings yourself, Ambarys," I replied, trying to keep my face impassive, "I have some… bad news. You may want to gather everyone in here."

Ambarys looked like he was about to ask another question, but stopped when he noticed my face fall and shake my head ever so slightly. Ambarys stood up straight, but before walking out, he handed me a bottle of mead, before walking out of the tavern. I took a seat at the bar, slowly sipping at the bottle, wondering what I was actually going to say. I had been thinking of the right words on the entire carriage ride, but nothing seemed right. Sulvia had been a friend of everyone in the Gray Quarter.

Soon the tavern was full of Dunmer, the room filled with quiet chatter, wondering why they were all there. Most were casting glances at me. I had not moved from the stool. I knew I likely had a grim expression on my face. I was drinking a second bottle of mead. I had finished the first bottle quickly, more to ease my nerves than anything else. I turned to face the crowd and asked everyone to take a seat. Eventually everyone was seated, looking up at me expectantly, appearing to wonder what I was going to say. They all knew who I was.

"So why have you called all of us here, Henrik?" asked Suvaris Atheron.

I explained why I was there, pouring my heart out to the crowd, tears once again falling as I left out no detail of what had transpired. Quiet chatter started immediately once I had finished, before there were immediate cries of revenge and reprisals against everyone possible – the Empire, the Stormcloaks, the Thalmor, and even the Vigilants, who were known for their pursuit of Daedra worshippers. The Dunmer had been the target of anti-elven attacks in Windhelm for years. Now the outright murder of one of their people was the last straw. I did my best to calm the situation.

"People! People!" I shouted over the crowd as I stood up, hands raised in a gesture for calm, "Trust me, there is nothing more I want than to catch her killers. But we need to make sure the right people are caught."

There were still murmurs of dissent, until Belyn Hlaalu stood up. A descendant of House Hlaalu, originally one of the the Great Houses of Morrowind, though House Hlaalu was effectively no more after the events of the Oblivion Crisis and subsequent Argonian invasion. But, being a member of a great house all the same, Hlaalu still commanded some respect from the local Dunmer, as one of the few to escape the confines of the Gray Quarter.

"My friends, I can understand your pain and anguish at this news. But listen to the Dragonborn. He has proven to be a great friend of the Dunmer since his arrival in Windhelm all those years ago. We should listen to him now. I believe in him, believe in his words. So should you all."

I gave a brief nod to Belyn as the elf sat down. Eventually I just sat there in silence once again, before everyone moved in, offering words of condolence and regret for my loss.

Later in the evening, I was sat at the bar in Candlehearth Hall. I had taken a bed for the night and was currently nursing a tankard of mead. I could hear the bard upstairs singing another song, giving the place a relaxed atmosphere, the barmaid, Elda, providing idle chit-chat for whoever sat next to me. I was quite happy to sit back and relax, enjoying the warmth of the inn, until a voice from the past walked in.

"Bah, all those Dunmer are alike, Angrenor. I don't know why Ulfric has put up with them being here for so long. We should just send them packing back to Morrowind. And as for those lizards, we should just sweep them off the docks and be done with them for good."

I slammed down my tankard, mead spilling over the top, attracting the attention of the two men who walked in.

"I would watch what words come out of your mouth next, Rolff," I warned.

The music upstairs stopped, and the shuffle of feet could be heard.

"And who in Oblivion are you?" he asked contemptuously.

"Rolff, that's the Dragonborn," whispered Angrenor into Rolff's ear.

"Dragonborn? Ha! He's a traitor to his own kind. Can you believe the rumours that he married a dark elf? So," questioned Rolff, turning to me, his breath in my face as I stood up from my stool and faced him, "Are you some sort of elf lover, Dragonborn?"

The bottled anger, rage and hatred that I had been holding since that night exploded out of me, memories of that first meeting with Sulvia always fresh in my mind. My right fist caught Rolff flush in the face, toppling the man to the ground. I was on top of him in a flash, fists raining down on the other man, who feebly tried to protect himself, raising his hands in self-defence, trying to stop the never-ending blows hammering into his face. All manner of curses left my mouth as I continued to strike the other Nord, though I can barely remember what I was actually shouting. After dealing out sufficient punishment, I could feel hands grabbing me around the arms and shoulders, pulling me off the other Nord, who lay there still, his face covered in blood.

"Argrenor, make sure he's still alive but get him out of here," ordered a female voice. Argrenor quietly nodded, his eyes and face showing undoubted fear, as he slowly dragged Rolff out of the tavern. I continued to strain against the hands holding me back. I wanted nothing more than to bring more harm to the other man. I wanted to kill him. I wanted revenge. Hot tears were now running down my face, blurring my vision as I watched Angrenor slowly drag Rolff out the door, as I continued to strain against the hands holding me, shouts of anger and pain rising from my throat. Once they were gone, and the door closed, I eventually stopped straining and slumped as the hands slowly let me go.

"Stenvar," said another female voice quietly, "Take the Dragonborn to his room. Everyone else in here. No-one is to speak of this. Understood?"

There was a succession of murmurs in agreement.

* * *

I woke in the morning in my bed emotionally drained. I was still dressed in my armour. I can only assume I passed out at some time last night. I walked out of my room and into the bar area where Elda was stood serving breakfast. She gave me a brief nod before handing over a bowl of stew and bread.

"How are feeling, Dragonborn?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Drained. Guilty. But… Thank you, Elda. It would have been appropriate of you to call the guards on me last night."

"Rolff has had that coming for some time, Dragonborn. The people of Windhelm may have no real love for the Dunmer in the Gray Quarter, but we generally let them get on with it and leave them in peace at least. Most of us are aware of what he does each night. Yet it cannot be stopped as the guards don't care, and won't get involved. Perhaps the beating you gave him last night will finally teach him."

I ate the rest of my breakfast in silence, and with a final word of thanks to Elda, plus a small bag of coin for her help the previous night, I walked out of the inn and into the cold morning. Another day had dawned, though I felt even worse than the day before. I did feel slightly guilty about what had transpired with Rolff, though I agreed with Eldea and thought the Nord had finally received his just desserts for his continued diatribes against the Elves who lived in Windhelm. I smiled slightly as I doubted he would be willing to walk around the Gray Quarter again once word got back to them.

Unsure of what to do next, I decided to walk round the city for a while, taking in the cold, brisk air. The snow was falling slightly though the sun was out, again with little warmth. Windhelm was a giant stone city and rather imposing. Honestly, I had never really liked the place. It was one of many reasons why I had moved with Sulvia to Falkreath.

I was walking up a path towards the Palace of the Kings when I came upon a young boy and a Dunmer female stood together. The boy seemed rather excitable.

"Ha! Then I'm right. I knew it. He's trying to have somebody killed!" exclaimed the boy.

"All right, I won't deny it, child. What you heard is true. But Aventus Aretino walks a dark path. His actions can only lead to ruin," replied the female, "Now. Enough. We will speak no more of this. I am the only friend you need."

I had to admit, my interest was slightly piqued by this. I had heard the guards mention rumours about someone trying to contact the Dark Brotherhood. Was this related in any way? I quickly approached the female.

"Excuse me, did I hear you mention the name Aventus Aretino? I've heard rumours about him apparently performing the Black Sacrament."

"Hmm. Yes, it's quite sad. The young boy lost his mother recently, and was sent to an orphanage. But he had returned home, and people have heard strange chanting. They say it's the Black Sacrament, the ritual to contact the Dark Brotherhood. Why a little boy would want to contact a group of murders is beyond me, but he is inviting evil into this city."

I nodded. "Thanks for the information." The female nodded and walked away.

I stood there and thought for a moment, then with mind made up, walked towards the door. I knocked lightly, but there was no answer. I tried opening the door, but it was locked.

_Lockpicking it is then._

With a quick jiggle, flick of the wrist, and turn of the lockpick, the lock clicked open and I slipped inside. The house was dark, as all the shutters appeared to be closed, but there was at least some light coming from the top of the stairs. I walked up the stairs and could hear the voice of a child chanting tiredly.

"Sweet Mother. Sweet Mother. Send you child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptised in blood and fear."

Once at the top of the stairs, I walked slowly into the room, as I didn't want to startle the child. I could see him crouched on the ground, clearly exhausted as he beat the floor with his fist. On the ground was something that would have horrified me years ago, but after everything I had seen in the past five years, not a lot shocked me anymore. A semi-circle of candles, a skeleton, human flesh, what appeared to be a human heart, and finally a nightshade plant and a dagger. I quietly cleared my throat.

The child leapt up. "It worked! I knew you'd come, I just knew it!"

I just nodded, wondering where this would go.

"I did the Black Sacrament, over and over. With the body, and the… the things. And then you came! An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood!"

I nodded again, remaining silent.

"It took so long. So very long. But now that you're here, you can accept my contract."

"Contract?" I asked. _What contract?_

The child's face turned incredibly sad. Voice quivering. "My mother, she… she died. I'm all alone now. So they sent me to that terrible orphanage in Riften. Honorhall."

I knew of Honorhall. I had been sent to the very same place when my family home – my parent's farm - had been attacked by bandits. My parents had been murdered, the house burned to the ground, livestock and crops destroyed. I had been lucky, playing in the forest at the time of the attack, and had only returned when the worst was over. I had been left alone. I knew the feeling well.

"The headmistress is an evil, cruel woman. They call her Grelod the Kind. But she's not kind. She's terrible. To all of us. So I ran away, and came home. And performed the Black Sacrament. Now you're here! And you can kill Grelod the Kind!"

I had to admit, I was shocked that such a young child would contemplate all this. But my own memories of my time at Honorhall flooded back. Grelod had been headmistress while I was growing up there. She was anything but kind. I would love to have run away myself, but unlike Aventus, I had nowhere to go. All I knew is that when I left at 14, I was left feeling utterly worthless about myself.

But could I carry out cold-blooded murder? Part of me wanted to carry out the contract. While I wanted revenge for my wife, why not add to that list? I'd have revenge for my own upbringing, plus it sounded like nothing had changed in all the years since I had left. Quite frankly, I'd be doing the kids a favour.

But doing this would also lead down a dark path. I thought I was a good man at heart. Committing murder wasn't something I had ever contemplated. But, then again, I had only thought of revenge since…

Aventus was still stood looking up at me as I stared at nothing, my mind contemplating, as if awaiting an answer. Eventually I looked down at the young boy. And nodded.

"It will be done."

* * *

Four days later, I was walking through the city gates of Riften as the sun set over the horizon. I had stopped at Whiterun en route, swapping all my dragon-scale armour and dragon-bone weapons for simple re-enforced leather armour and ordinary steel weapons, though I kept the priest mask for the sake of anonymity. I had a relatively simple plan in my mind of how to conduct this business, though I still unsure at the thought of committing cold-blooded murder.

As I walked into the 'Bee and Barb', a familiar accent gained my attention.

"Hail, Henrik," called Mjoll across the room.

I stopped and looked around the room and gave a small grin and small wave to my old friend once I located her position in the room. I handed over a few gold coins for a room to the barkeep and grabbed a tankard of mead, then walked over to the table.

"Well met, Mjoll," I answered, taking a seat across from the female Nord. I looked her over and realised she still hadn't changed. Still the long, blonde, unkempt hair. War paint across half her face. Still dressed in her standard war armour. She was a well-built woman, but still managed to maintain an air of feminity – there was a very soft person underneath the hard exterior that I knew well. There was no sign of Aerin, though, who I had always tolerated but no more than that. Mjoll and I shared a past of sorts, both having grown up in Honorhall, both the result of bandit raids on our homes, leaving the rest of our family dead.

"How are you, Henrik? What has brought you to Riften?"

I explained what had intervened in the past couple of weeks. Mjoll's face fell further and further as I filled her in the latest events of my life.

"Do you know who did this, Henrik?" asked Mjoll, once I had finished.

"Not yet, but I intend to find out."

"Is that what has brought you to Riften?"

"No. I was given a job to do in the area. Thought I'd stop by and see how you were. It's been a while, Mjoll. Still the protector of Riften, I take it?"

Mjoll shook her head sadly, shrugging her shoulders. "I do what I can, Henrik. But ever since Maven Black-Briar became Jarl, the city has become ever more corrupt. The people suffer even more. The Thieves Guild still maintain a presence, but they are the least of the city's problems. But it's been such a long struggle, it's been difficult… Part of me would like to just leave and begin my adventures again. Like we did, when we hunted down dragons. Part of me is hoping… you may one day be able to return here, and help me fix Riften's problems..."

I grinned ever so slightly. "Those were some fun times, despite the madness of it all. But how could I help you with Riften?"

"I don't know. But it would be nice to have you at my side again," said Mjoll, with a slight grin, "All the trouble we used to cause at Honorhall."

"Aye, I remember it well."

Mjoll drained her tankard and wiped her mouth with her left hand. "Well, I'd best be off, Henrik. Aerin will no doubt be waiting for me at home."

I couldn't help but smirk. "I'm surprised he isn't here following your around like normal."

Mjoll gave me a slight look but a small grin. "Be nice, Henrik. He saved my life, remember?"

I nodded. "I'll never hear the end of it."

Mjoll stood up and walked to stand beside me, laying a hand on my shoulder. "It was good to see you again, Henrik," she said, leaning in to kiss me lightly on the cheek.

"You too, Mjoll. Stay safe."

"Aye," she answered, before walking out the door.

I sat for a few more minutes before draining my tankard and walking up the stairs to my room. I wanted to rest for a while before events that would unfold later that evening.


	4. Chapter 4

I pulled the hood low over my head while covering the lower part of my face with a dark scarf. I placed my steel dagger in its sheath attached to my belt. I planned on taking no other weaponry with me as this job didn't require an all-out assault. I wanted to move quickly but silently. I slowly opened the door to my room, peeking outside into the hallway. Only one candle was still lit, the hallway otherwise dark. I took a step out of the room, closing the door lightly behind me, before I walked as silently as possible down the hallway, praying to Talos that the floorboards wouldn't squeak. Down the stairs I walked, crouching at the end as I checked to make sure the bar area was unoccupied. I let out a breath to find that it was dark and empty.

I stepped quickly across the floor towards the double doors. Surprisingly, they were still unlocked. I opened one of the two doors and peered outside. I could see the tell-tale signs of one or two torches, as town guards made their rounds. Otherwise, Riften was quiet. It was rather difficult to see as the moons were covered by clouds. I stepped out and closed the door behind me, staying in the shadows, as I observed the guards make their rounds, torches held in their left hand, the clink of their swords rattling to their side. Once the guards were out of sight, I slightly crouched and darted forward, using the stalls of the small market area as cover as I made my way across to Honorhall.

Once in place at the door, I tried the doorknob. It turned but the door wouldn't open.

_Shit, I'll need to pick it._

I grabbed a lockpick from my pocket and expertly picked it in a matter of seconds. All those chests I had picked over the years, while delving the depths of ancient Nord ruins, had left me as an expert lockpicker.

_I'd probably make an excellent thief._

Opening the door slowly, I thanked all nine Divines that there was no squeak as I took a step into the orphanage. I stood still for a moment as my eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Once again, quiet as a mouse, I took a step forward. From what I could see in the darkness, the place was still the pitiful 'home', if one could call it such a place, that I remembered. I walked past small beds, where blankets covered sleeping children. A pang of guilt suddenly enveloped me, as I realised they would be the ones to discover the body in the morning. But I steeled my resolve as, quite frankly, Grelod had what was coming to her.

* * *

**Fifteen Years Ago**

_Mjoll and I were stood with the other orphans who resided with us. Grelod was again making us know how worthless we all were. I looked around at the other children. I knew we were all extremely dirty, covered in tatty clothing and barefoot. The only happiness I could think of was the fact that at least our bellies were relatively full._

"_Those who shirk their duties will get an extra beating. Do I make myself clear?" warned Grelod._

"_Yes, Grelod," we all responded, our voices tinged with hopelessness. Sadness. Despair._

"_And one more thing! I will hear no more talk of adoptions! None of you riff-raff is getting adopted. Ever! Nobody needs you, nobody wants you._

_That, my darlings, is why you're here. Why you will always be here, until the day you come of age and get thrown out into that wide, horrible world._

_Now, what do you all say?"_

"_We love you, Grelod. Thank you for your kindness," stated we children, the words said through gritted teeth, the bile rising in my throat._

"_That's better. Now scurry off, my little guttersnipes."_

_Grelod turned and walked back into her bedroom, closing the door behind her, while the children sat on their beds, conversing quietly. Mjoll and I were sat together on my bed._

"_We need to do something about her," I growled quietly, "She's evil. We shouldn't have to live like this."_

"_And where would __we go, Henrik? Riften is far from anywhere. If we go anywhere else, we'll just be caught, sent back here and beaten regardless. And we certainly won't survive otherwise. Not yet, anyway."_

"_There is another way," I answered. I stood up and searched for something under my straw mattress. Retrieving the package, I sat back down and removed the cloth to reveal a shiny dagger._

"_Why do you have that, Henrik?" asked Mjoll quietly._

"_We can kill her," I stated relatively simply, "And then we'll all be free from her."_

"_You mean murder? No, Henrik. That's not the way. That's not you. I know you hate her, we all do, but killing her is not the right way."_

"_So we should just continue to live like this, Mjoll? Let her dominate our lives? Make them a complete misery?"_

"_I understand, Henrik, but killing her is not the way. Please," she stated, placing her hand over mine, "Think about what you're saying and planning. However cruel Grelod may be, killing her doesn't make it right."_

_I looked into Mjoll's pleading eyes, edged with tears. Clearly this talk was upsetting her. That was the last thing I wanted, though I desperately wanted us to be free. I eventually let out a sigh and gave a brief nod. "Okay, Mjoll. I won't do anything rash."_

* * *

I opened the door to Grelod's bedroom. Faint light shone from a candle that was still lit on the desk to the right. Otherwise the room was in darkness. I stepped through the gap and closed the door behind me. In the minimal light I could see Grelod laying on the bed, fast asleep. Without a sound I walked around the bed and stood beside her. Grelod was on her back, her eyes closed, snoring ever so lightly. Even in sleep, a sneer was on her face.

I placed a hand over her mouth and nose, Grelod's eyes flashing open in shock immediately. They quickly focused on my eyes looking back at her.

"Greetings, Grelod the Kind," I whispered.

The eyes peered back at me as if trying to recognise the voice, the eyes now bristling with hatred.

_Now those are the eyes that I remember._

I used my other hand to pull down the scarf so she could see my face. Grelod recognising me was of no concern. She would be dead soon.

"Remember me, Grelod?"

Grelod looked into my face for a moment, then to my slight surprise, she nodded slightly.

"I had planned to do this many years ago, but a friend talked me out of it. The only reason I listened to her at the time is because she is one of my best friends, and I didn't want to hurt her. Or disappoint her. But, now, I hear this place hasn't changed. You still treat children as badly as ever. In fact, it seems to be so awful here nowadays that a child performed the Black Sacrament. Do you know what that is, Grelod?"

Grelod nodded again. The hatred still in her eyes, but also a spark of fear. Grelod knew her time was up. I unsheathed the dagger and held it up to her eyes.

"The same dagger I was going to use all those years ago. Rather poignant, I think. You have no idea how many times I thought of slitting your throat while I was here, Grelod. I'd have dreams about it. The thing is, I generally like to think I'm a good man. I know I have my faults, but I generally try to see the best in myself, but also in other people. But you, Grelod," as I continued to point the dagger, "There is nothing redeeming about you as a person. You are sadistic, utterly evil and beyond cruel. Quite frankly, I'll be doing these children a favour. This is truly something I should have done long ago."

Without another word I slowly slit Grelod's throat with the dagger, blood immediately pouring from the wound, as Grelod struggled slightly, as I kept my hand over her mouth and nose to prevent her crying out. It was over very quickly as Grelod bled out, her chest no longer rising or falling. I removed my hand, lowering my head over her face for any sign of breath, waiting in the event that Grelod made a noise. But she was clearly already dead.

"Oblivion take you, Grelod the Kind," I whispered, wiping the blood off the dagger on her dress, placing it back in its sheath.

Without a backwards glance, I walked back to the door, slipped through quietly then made my way out of the orphanage. Sticking to the shadows, I made his way back to the tavern, again managing to slip in quietly without being noticed. Once back in my room, I took off all my armour, placing the sheathed dagger on the table and lay down on the bed.

I was fast asleep within minutes.

* * *

The next morning I was downstairs in the tavern, breaking my fast. I sat by myself at a table, picking at a bread roll while listening in to the conversations taking place. A local guard had just walked in, taking a seat at the bar. He was full of news about events taking place in Riften.

"Aye, the children found her this morning. The poor things. Her throat cut clean. She must have died within seconds from the amount of blood still pooled on the bed. All I'd like to know is who would do such a thing?"

"I'm not so sure, Harald," responded a tavern patron, "I've heard the rumours of the conditions those children had to live in."

"Aye," agreed another patron, "She may have been known as Grelod the Kind, but I've heard many refer to her as Grelod the Cruel."

"While that may be true, it doesn't excuse her murder now, does it?" replied the guard.

There were at least murmurs of agreement.

"Whatever the case, the whole case has an air of a professional. Already there are rumours of… the Dark Brotherhood…"

The whole tavern went silent. Except myself as I started to chuckle. The guard turned around to look at me.

"Something funny, kinsman?"

"The Dark Brotherhood? Really? That's your best guess? Yes, I would agree that, at one time, this had the hallmarks of an assassination. But no-one has heard from the Dark Brotherhood in generations. According to the Empire government, they were all but wiped out after the Oblivion Crisis, and that was two centuries ago."

I had learned of the Dark Brotherhood on my travels. Once feared assassins that were spread across the length and breadth of Tamriel, I had read that they had been utterly destroyed between the events of the Oblivion Crisis and Dragon Crisis, and the that Night Mothers crypt itself had been desecrated and destroyed. As far as anyone knew, the Dark Brotherhood no longer existed.

"Well, if you're such a master detective, who do you think did it?" asked the guard.

I shrugged my shoulders. "I have no idea, kinsman. I just find talk of the Dark Brotherhood slightly ludicrous. I mean no offence, naturally."

The guard grumbled, but turned around and continued talking to some of the patrons, his voice now slightly quieter. I returned my attention to the plate of food in front of me but continued to listen to the chatter. Everyone had their own theory. Some believed it was the Dark Brotherhood. Others believed it may have been one of the very children in the orphanage. One or two said it could have been a revenge attack by a previous orphan. I tried not to choke on my food when that was mentioned.

Once I had eaten my fill, I gathered what possessions I had brought with me and quietly slipped out the door. Outside, I checked to make sure no-one I knew was around. The last person I wanted to speak to was Mjoll. I didn't want to lie to her, as I knew she would assume it was me that killed Grelod. She would surely put two and two together. I had mentioned I was there for a job only the night before. However, for once my luck was in, the coast was clear and I made my way to the city gates. Once through, I hailed the carriage driver.

Back in Windhelm, I stopped off to inform Aventus that the contract had been completed. At first he was overjoyed by the news, but then realised he was still alone, with nowhere really to go. I suggested that it may be best heading to Riften, and back to the orphanage, as the new person in charge would have to better than Grelod. Aventus agreed, and I gave him the coin for transport back south. I walked the young lad out to the waiting carriage, and suggested that he not mention anything to do with the Black Sacrament to anyone else.

Later that evening, I was once again sat in Candlehearth Hall, nursing a tankard of mead. I had made a decision. I was heading back to Whiterun. After the events of the previous night, I wanted to at least kill with honour.

I was finally going to join the Companions.

* * *

"So you're joining the Companions?" asked Lydia, trying to be heard over the noise of the tavern. The Bannered Mare was busy, crowded and loud, like every night. The bard was playing a tune on his flute, there was laughter and song, the occasional scream or slap as a serving girl was felt up.

"Sure, why not?" I responded, "I've spoken with some of them on occasion. I know Skjor served during the Great War. I've seen Aela out hunting every so often. They seem like an honourable bunch. And, if I'm honest, it'll give me something to do. Hopefully a good fight every now and then."

"But what about finding out about… what happened?"

I could only grimace slightly. "I honestly don't know where to start, Lydia. I'm no detective. And if I don't do anything except think about that, I'll go mad. I have one clue to go on, but it's flimsy at best. I can't just go around accusing every Stormcloak of murdering my wife, or of every Nord being a possible Stormcloak sympathiser. I'm going to have to rely on rumour and gossip. Someone out there has to know something, I'm just going to have to be patient. It's going to take time. I have a lot of it free now, so I may as well do something honourable…"

I didn't think it would make amends for cold-blooded murder, but it was a start at least.

The next morning I walked into Jorvasskr. Three tables were lined up around a fire pit, seats occupied by members of the Companions. The tables were full of food and drink, the room kept warm by the roaring fire. There was much laughter from the occupants, no doubt swapping stories of their latest exploits. Skjor noticed me walk in, standing up and approaching me as he circled the tables.

"Greetings, Dragonborn."

"Yourself, Skjor."

"I must ask, Dragonborn, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

"I wish to become a Companion, Skjor."

Skjor looked back at me with slight surprise. Then a small grin spread across his face. "Excellent news. Go downstairs and speak to the Harbinger. You know Kodlak Whitemane?"

"I know the name, Skjor. Everyone in Whiterun knows of Kodlak Whitemane."

"He's downstairs in his quarters, Henrik. He'll want to speak to you."

With a nod of thanks, I circled the tables and walked downstairs into the Jorvasskr living quarters. The hallway was lined up with various banners and trinkets, but on the whole the place was relatively spartan. Unsurprising, considering Jorvasskr was the home to a band of warriors. At the end of the hall was an opened set of double doors, an older man was sat on a chair, leaning on the table, deep in discussion with another male sat across from him. I recognised the other male as Vilkas, someone I had talked to at times in the 'Bannered Mare'.

"Kodlak Whitemane?" I asked as I approached the pair, who did appear to be deep in discussion.

"Ah, a stranger comes to our hall," replied Kodlak.

"This is the Dragonborn," added Vilkas.

"I would like to join the Companions."

"Would you now? Here, let me have a look at you. Hmm, yes. A certain strength of spirit."

"Master, this man has faced down dragons and won. We should accept him immediately."

"It is okay, Vilkas. I would not expect to be accepted immediately."

"I am nobody's master, Vilkas. But, it would be a boon for our organisation to have the Dragonborn in our ranks. What is your name, Dragonborn?"

"Henrik."

"Very well, Henrik. Before you are fully accepted as a member of the Companions, you will need to face a trial. That will need to be organised. So, before that, speak to one of our other members. They may have work available."

"You have my thanks, Harbinger."

Kodlak nodded, while Vilkas stood, motioning to me to follow him back upstairs. We walked side by side up the hall. "Why the change of mind, Henrik? I know you have shown interest previously."

"If you don't mind, Vilkas, I'd rather not share the story more than once if people are interested as to why the Dragonborn is joining your ranks."

Vilkas turned his head to look at me. "It's okay, Henrik. We all know of what happened. I can understand why you are here now. It's good to see you, nonetheless."

We walked back upstairs, walking towards and joining the rest of the group still sat around the fire. Vilkas explained to the rest of my willingness to join. There was genuine surprise from most, but once I gave vague details as to why, there was general acceptance. Farkas approached me with a job.

"Henrik, I have a small job for you. Right here in Whiterun."

"What is it, Farkas?"

"We need you to rough someone up. Remind them of their obligations. I have a feeling you may even enjoy this one."

"Who's the target?"

"Nazeem."

I had to resist grinning. Or bursting out laughing. I eventually made do with a nod.

"Henrik, just don't kill the patronising son of a bitch, okay?"

"Don't worry about a thing, Farkas. But, I'll be honest, I will get some enjoyment out of this."

Farkas slapped me on the shoulder and laughed. "That's why I gave it to you. Now, go on. I'll wait here for you."

With a spring in my step, I walked out of Jorvasskr and down the steps towards the Gildergreen, once again in full bloom as I helped Danica long ago, the Priestess of Kynareth, restore the Gildergreen to its previous splendour. The scent of the flowers in bloom was intoxicating. Figuring I may as well just wait for Nazeem to walk by, I took a seat on one of the chairs surrounding the Gildergreen, the voice of Heimskr and his preaching once again filling the air. The day was relatively cool as usual, though the sun was out, shade provided by the Gildergreen leaving me with a slight chill. Overall, I was left feeling relatively peaceful, though my eyes were alert, waiting for the male Redguard to eventually walk by.

After what felt like hours, I finally heard the condescending tone of Nazeem as he talked to another Whiterun citizen. I turned my head and waited for him to appear at the top of the stairs. Once he had ascended the stairs, I stood and stared as the Redguard approached me.

"Yes?" he asked, giving me his usual disdainful look.

"I've been sent to resolve a dispute," I stated ominously.

"You can't scare me. Let's go," responded Nazeem.

I took great pleasure in what came next. Redguards were renowned fighters, but Nazeem had obviously grown fat and lazy, his first swing, a right hook, slow and cumbersome, which missed, as I leaned back with a smirk. I responded with a straight right fist of my own, connecting with the nose of Nazeem, blood immediately pouring from his broken nose. I followed this up with a quick flurry of punches to his mid-section, aiming specifically for his kidneys as Nazeem wore no armour, which eventually left Nazeem sprawled on the ground, gasping for breath. I stood and leered over him, fists at my side.

"I presume you know what to do."

Nazeem looked up at me, nodding his head. "Yes, alright. I'll make sure it's settled."

"Good. Don't make me come back again."

I turned around and walked back up the steps and into Jorvasskr. Farkas was sat at the table waiting for me.

"All's well, Henrik?"

I nodded. "Yes, Farkas. The message has been delivered."

Farkas could only chuckle. "I bet. Come on, join us for a drink."


End file.
